Pasts Unforgotten
by MintSauce
Summary: Mickey didn't know how the hell he could forget that Ian would be there at his sister's wedding. One-shot. Rated M for language just to be safe.


Mandy was the only person that Mickey would turn up to a wedding for. Mickey didn't like weddings, didn't believe in them. He thought they were a mistake, the biggest mistake you could ever make. But for Mandy, he swallowed his opinions, dressed up sort of nice and turned up to the bloody wedding.

It was good timing anyway, he'd needed a break from where he was living.

Mickey could count on one hand how many times he had been back to Chicago since he'd moved away. He'd only come back then for Mandy. Hadn't even turned up to their Dad's funeral, but then nobody had turned up for that according to Mandy. Mickey wasn't surprised even though he pretended to be when she called him, just like he pretended to give a shit that the guy was dead.

Just like he pretended now that he wanted to be here, that he didn't think she was making a mistake.

As far as he was concerned though, his little sister could make as many mistakes as she liked. It was the fucker she was marrying who's eyeballs were on the line here. Mickey would kill him if he ever broke his fucking vows, if he ever made Mandy cry. He'd kill him.

"My name's Darryl, I don't believe we've actually met."

Mickey stared at the guy who was offering his hand out, wondering what Mandy saw in him. It wasn't like he was a good looking bloke. He wasn't particularly rich either. "Good for you," he said, which of course made Mandy slap him around the back of the head.

"For fuck's sake assface, will you be nice?" she asked, glaring at him.

No doubt, she was going to try and pin him with some blame for ruining this wedding. He held his hands up in defeat because he was too fucking tired to be bothered with the argument. "This is me being nice and you fucking know it," he retorted, "I didn't fucking hit him, did I?"

Mandy rolled her eyes, but seemed to see his point.

"Just don't do anything stupid, like land yourself back in fucking jail, okay?" she asked, hugging him tight for a brief moment, "Otherwise I'm going to put your nuts in a vice and laugh while you scream."

And she probably would, because Mandy could get married and change her name, but she'd still have Milkovich blood in her veins.

"So, Mickey, do you have a girlfriend or someone that you brought with you for the wedding?" Darryl asked, obviously trying to be polite, because they were soon to be family or what the fuck ever.

Mickey just snorted and walked off. He wasn't even going to bother answering that one.

-000-

The next day, Mickey wiped the frown off his face and replaced it with a blank expression, walked Mandy down the aisle because she said he had to and sort of dozed off while standing up during the ceremony. He didn't need to listen, he knew how weddings went, there were vows, there was crying and then there was sex somewhere afterwards.

It wasn't something Mickey was ever going to have to bother with, so he really didn't have to pay attention to the details. It wasn't actually a bad wedding though, there was free booze for him to drink, nobody wanted to talk to him and Mandy was too clever to try and force him to dance with her.

And then Mickey caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd.

He cornered him in the bathroom, slamming him against the tiles hard enough to crack one or two. "Brett, what the actual fuck do you think you're doing here?" Mickey snarled in the unfortunate guy's face.

"I had to see you," he said, staring pathetically at Mickey with wide eyes that had absolutely no effect.

"Yeah well, you've seen me, now fuck off," he said, even though he knew he wouldn't. He slammed him into the wall again anyway for emphasis. "And don't _ever_ come near me again."

Brett looked like he was on the verge of tears and it made Mickey want to hit him. He almost did. "Mickey, I love you, you can't leave me just because I love you," he said, looking even more pathetic if that was even possible.

Mickey sneered. "Yeah, actually, I can," he said, pushing him away because he didn't want to be near him anymore, "This was never supposed to love, we're not even a fucking couple. It was just supposed to be sex, because I don't love you, will never love you and don't fucking want to."

And Mickey meant that. He really did. He'd never been more serious about anything in his entire life.

"How the fuck can you know you don't want to be in love if you never have been?" Brett was practically screaming at him and Mickey wanted to hit him to shut him up. But he didn't, because he'd hurt Brett's feelings enough that he probably wouldn't even feel physical pain anymore at that moment. Oh well, that was too fucking bad.

Mickey snorted. "Who the fuck said I've never been in love?" he asked, staring at him even though he didn't actually know why the hell he was explaining this. Maybe because he had to say it once. Maybe because he knew it would hurt Brett. Maybe just because. "I know what love is and it's stupid and painful and I'm better off without it."

The anger faded away out of Brett's expression, like Mickey had surprised him. And he probably had.

"He must have really done a number on you," he commented, "At least you know what it feels like to get dumped"

And that just made Mickey snort again.

"I never got _dumped_," he snapped, "I'm the one who ended it, because love only gets you fucking killed." He stepped up close to him again, pushing him back against the tiles. "So get this into your head, I don't need him, I don't need you and I don't need _anyone_ to love me," he growled, "it was supposed to be a convenient fuck, just like with Gallagher, only difference is, this time round, I don't feel jack shit for you."

He didn't have anything left to feel, it had been ripped out of him.

Ian Gallagher still held that part of him that was capable of emotions. And the fucker didn't even know it.

Brett stared at him. "You think you know what love is, but you wouldn't have walked away if you really did love him."

And it pissed Mickey off that he sounded so sure. That he thought he knew everything.

"I don't need to fucking explain myself to you," he snarled, he didn't know why he was actually, "But I didn't walk the fuck away because I didn't love him, I told him he was nothing but a wet mouth because he had plans, he was going to go and be great and if my dad found out, a bullet in the back of the head would have fucked all that up for him and I was _not_ going to be responsible for that."

And then a stall door was banging and Mickey was spinning and then it was him who was slammed up against the tiles, an arm pressed up against his throat. "You didn't get to make that fucking decision," Ian's face pressed close to his. And it was so familiar that it hurt. The red hair and the impossibly deep eyes were still the same even if the face had hardened. "That was not your right."

Mickey sneered because if he didn't, he was going to smile. "Should have known you'd fucking be here."

He tried not to make it obvious that he was admiring the ripple of Ian's muscles as he pinned Mickey against the wall or how hot he looked in a suit. "Yeah Mick, we're best friends," he said and his anger was out there, it was palpable. It was fucking hot. "You're the one it's fucking surprising turned up."

"It's Mandy, of course I was going to turn up," Mickey said, baring his teeth because he didn't like the idea of Ian doubting him.

Ian snorted, "Oh yeah, I forgot, she's the only one you'll actually admit to giving a shit about, isn't she?"

"Fuck off, Gallagher, you don't know anything," Mickey retorted, which they both knew was a lie because Mickey had always thought that Ian knew everything. He still thought he did. Lip was clever, but Ian would always be the smartest person Mickey knew.

Ian had known how to get out of shitty Chicago. Mickey had as well, but he'd only ever left it physically.

"I know that you're a coward," Ian sneered, "I know that you should have just fucking listened to me when I told you that Frank wasn't going to blab to anyone."

Mickey sort of wished that he had done, but he'd never admit that out loud.

"Fuck off," he said because he didn't know what else to say, "You didn't get your ass blown off in the army then?" He didn't mean for it to come out like he actually gave a shit, he was just curious. It wasn't like he gave a shit whether or not Ian had gotten his dream.

"I guess not," Ian said he was trying to sound pissed off, but Mickey swore he saw the corner of his mouth twitch in a smile, "Surprised your ass isn't in jail." It was blunt and to the point and Mickey wasn't even offended, because he knew Ian wasn't actually try to offend him. It was just a statement. Milkovichs equalled jail, it was as simple as that.

He shrugged about as well as was possible with Ian still pinning him to the wall. "Thought I'd try my hand at being good," he said and smirked when Ian scoffed.

"Yeah, cause that's even possible," he said, "You're still a dick though apparently."

His eyes flickered towards where Brett was standing watching them and Mickey had actually forgotten he was there. "You think I give a shit?" he asked, scowling at the guy watching them. He wasn't used to people watching him and Ian doing anything; and that included breathing on each other as far as Mickey was concerned.

"He ever kiss you?" Ian asked, addressing Brett.

Mickey would have been pissed off it the possessive scowl on Ian's face hadn't been there. It made his smirk turn into a smile.

"No," Brett said, frowning.

"Good," Ian said bluntly, "Otherwise I think I'd actually cut your tongue out."

Mickey's smile switched back to a smirk, "Stealing phrases now, Gallagher?"

He knew the way Ian smiled was because he was surprised Mickey even remembered saying that to him. "Don't ruin Mandy's wedding," he warned, even though it sort of detracted from the threat when he pressed closer, his erection rubbing against Mickey's through their trousers.

Mickey didn't even have time to answer before Ian was walking out of the bathroom. He could still feel the heat of the redhead's body pressed against him and it made him shiver with nothing but pure need.

"Well he looks happy to see you," Brett commented bitterly and Mickey scowled at him for ruining Mickey's moment of recollection.

"You need to shut the fuck up and piss off," he warned before taking a leaf out of Ian's book and walking out of the bathroom before he even got an answer. With Brett, it was definitely better that way, even if Mickey did forget about him almost as soon as he left the room.

-000-

Mickey was having some luck. He had a drink almost constantly in his hand, a cigarette in the other and Ian in his most recent memories.

Then some fucker he didn't know had to ruin it by speaking to him.

"Hey, I'm Jason, Darryl's brother, we're sort of family now so I thought I'd come over and introduce myself," the guy said and Mickey didn't even look at him. He didn't want to, because maybe then the idiot would just go away. "Are you enjoying the wedding?"

He let his eyes flicker towards the guy, saw he was kind of fugly and looked away. "It's a wedding," he said simply, because really that was the only explanation that was needed, "And I'm a Milkovich, we don't mix."

And that was the truth, about as blunt as it came, but maybe also as twisted.

This guy didn't know him, he obviously thought he knew Mandy. But he didn't. Only Mickey knew Mandy and Ian knew Mandy, nobody else did. Nobody else probably ever would, because these people weren't from their area, they were brought up properly, he could practically smell it on their skin. They wouldn't understand.

"Well it would probably be more interesting if you socialised a little," he suggested, Mickey had already forgotten his name. He glared at him though for even thinking he had any right to tell Mickey what he should do. "Did you come alone?" he asked, still trying to coax some conversation out of him, "Or is your girlfriend on the dance floor?"

Mickey hated the smile on the guy's face.

"What is it with you and your brother asking me if I have a fucking girlfriend?" he snapped and the guy blanched slightly.

"You could come sit with me and my fiancé if you like," he said after a minute, trying to recover, "He's just over there."

And Mickey followed the pointing finger automatically, saw Ian sitting there with a cigarette trapped between his lips, all alone at a table. Mickey laughed and laughed because if he didn't he thought he was going to cry.

Because Ian wasn't his anymore. If he ever had been.

-000-

His brothers found him when he went for a wander, trying to get away from the crush of the wedding, from the happiness that was threatening to choke him. The weight of everyone's smiles were bearing down on his shoulders and he felt like he was drowning in there.

"Hey, Mick," Joey clapped him on the back hard, his movements drunken and clumsy, "You bored?"

"As fuck," Mickey admitted, looking at his other brothers as well, who were just as if not more drunk as Joey, "Why?"

"We're thinking about going gay-bashing," Joey said, his grin stupid and none of them noticed that Mickey's heart tripped in his chest, "Thought it would be fun, gonna find that Gallagher kid Mandy's always with."

Mickey scowled, could feel his hands balling into fists down at his sides. "You know she'll kick your ass if you touch him," he said, the words ground out through clenched teeth, but they didn't notice.

They were stupid and to top it off, _drunk_, they wouldn't notice a hell of a lot tonight.

Joey shrugged, "It'd still be worth it."

"Would it be worth it when I crack open your skull on the ground?" Mickey snarled before he could stop himself, "Because you even think about touching him and I will kill you." Just the idea of his brothers touching Ian was making him see red and feel like he was going to puke all at the same time.

Joey scowled, "Why the fuck's it matter to you?"

"Well it seems only fair that I kill for him considering the number of times his dick's been up my fucking ass," Mickey said, his anger making him irrational, making him stupid and reckless. But it also made him uncaring.

He didn't care about the fist that slammed into his face, or the next one. He didn't care about anything but the memory of Ian's skin underneath his fingertips. He blamed it on the alcohol; and the fact that his brain was getting kind of scrambled after the third blow to the head.

-000-

"_Mickey_," Mandy grabbed his arm and stopped him from walking past her, "What the hell happened?"

He coughed and spat blood out onto the ground, "I walked into a wall, what the fuck did you think happened, Mandy?"

"Shit," her hands hovered over his face, "Let's go get you cleaned up." She dragged him into the bathroom, swearing at a couple of girls who told her Mickey couldn't be in there. She made him sit on the counter as she set about wiping the blood from his face. He didn't argue even though he wanted to, he was too tired.

"Who the hell did this to you?" she asked, dabbing at his eyebrow with a wet piece of tissue.

She didn't seem to be caring about the fact her dress was white at all, which would have made him smile if his lip hadn't been split.

"Our dear old brothers," he muttered, even though he knew this was going to lead to a conversation he didn't want to have. It didn't seem fair for them to know and Mandy not to though, he had to tell her.

She stopped wiping at his face and stared at him, trying to find a lie. "Why?" she asked carefully, because she knew Milkovich's didn't hurt each other without a reason. Or at least not this badly.

"Oh, I came out to them," Mickey muttered, fidgeting where he sat. But it wasn't like he could take the words back. "They didn't really take it very well to be honest." Although he was counting himself lucky that he wasn't dead.

"You. . ." she stopped and stared at him, "Are you serious?"

He met her stare unflinchingly, "Do you really think I'd fucking joke about this, don't be an idiot, Mandy, Jesus!"

She smacked him around the back of the head, which hurt way more than it should have. He wondered if he had a concussion. Probably not since he was upright. "Why the fuck would you tell them that?" she asked and he felt like crying at the fact she so easily accepted the knowledge. She obviously hadn't expected it, but she accepted it.

That was why Mandy was his favourite.

"It wasn't like I had a fucking choice," he replied, wincing when she started dabbing his face again, "They were bored and needed someone to hit, it was either me or Gallagher, I was the one they were least likely to kill."

Although there had still been a pretty big fucking chance and Mandy knew that.

"You'd do that for Ian?"

He rolled his eyes at the stupid question. "You're looking at my face, what do you fucking think?" he asked.

She touch a finger to his bruised cheek, which was already swelling. "Shit," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper, "Does that mean you love him?"

"I haven't seen him in years," he said lamely.

"That's a yes then," Mandy said and then she smacked him hard on the arm, "You're the dickhead who fucking broke his heart, aren't you?"

He swore when she hit him and didn't answer because he knew she'd only hit him again.

"Why the hell didn't they kill you?" she asked when it was pretty obvious he wasn't going to say anything. He didn't know what the hell he could possibly say. "They didn't even seem to hit anything other than your face."

She'd already checked under his shirt to see that his ribs weren't bruised and were in fact fine. They did even hurt. It was just his face that stung like a son of a bitch. And his knuckles from where he'd punched back.

"I think it was just because they were already so drunk they could hardly fucking stand up," he said, "Never been more thankful for an open bar, let me tell you."

She snorted out her laugh, which really wasn't attractive, but he didn't bother telling her that.

"You need anything?" she asked him, throwing the bloody tissue in the bin and grimacing at his face, "Pain killers?"

He shook his head slowly, because that action fucking hurt. "I just need vodka," he muttered.

He wanted to be numb. He didn't want to feel the pain, either in his head or in his chest. The one in his chest was worse though, because he knew that that one wouldn't heal with a bit of time and some painkillers. That one was going to stay forever.

"Well then let's go make you even more fucking thankful for that open bar," she said, grinning and smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. "When you're drunk enough, I might even get you to dance with me."

He snorted, "Never fucking happening."

He was adamant about that.

-000-

Ian felt a kiss brush along his cheekbone and he jumped a mile. He smiled at Jason and hoped that the man didn't see the guilt in his expression. Guilt for still wanting someone he shouldn't. It was only physical, but that probably only made it worse. Somehow. . . he didn't know. Ian was in a mood to hate everything at the moment.

Which was a shitty mood to be in at a wedding.

"Mandy's brother's a piece of work," Jason said, sitting down beside him and pulling a face at the wine, because he was fussy about stuff like that. Ian couldn't help but contrast him to Mickey, who would drink almost anything alcoholic even if he hated the taste.

He didn't like being on the subject of Mickey, but it would have looked suspicious if he'd changed the subject. "Yeah," he said, hoping he didn't sound nervous to Jason, "He can be sometimes."

Or all of the time. Most of the time.

"I went over to introduce myself, to be nice you know and I thought he was about to tear my eyeballs out of my head," Jason said and Ian cringed at the idea of them having a conversation. Even if it would be admittedly one-sided. "I asked him if he had a girlfriend and he got all pissed off saying that people needed to stop asking him that, I think he has a screw loose upstairs though."

Ian frowned at that comment, "Why?"

Jason shrugged, "He went into hysterics when I told him about our engagement."

Ian was actually pretty positive that all the colour drained out of his face. It surprised him a little that Mickey laughed, but it still made him cringe at the idea of Mickey finding out he was engaged. He would think it was stupid and faggy. Mickey would probably never get married, especially not to a man.

"Feel a little sorry for the bloke though," Jason continued, completely oblivious to Ian's state as he often was. That was another way he was different from Mickey. Mickey had always noticed Ian's change in moods even if he'd never commented on them. "Getting beaten up at your sister's wedding just isn't right."

Ian felt like he was going to be sick. "Mickey was beaten up?" the words sounded dead coming out of his mouth.

"Yeah, saw him going into the bathroom with Mandy, he looked terrible," he said, but Ian was already on his feet. It felt like something was clawing at his stomach, bile rising up in his throat and the memory of Mickey lying on the ground with a bullet hole in his leg flickering behind his eyelids.

He didn't care that he could hear Jason following him, or that he was probably being an idiot. He couldn't stop his feet from moving and he didn't even want to try.

"What the hell happened?" he grabbed the sides of Mickey's face when he found him at the bar of all places, no doubt using vodka rather than painkillers to numb the pain and took in every cut and bruise on the ex-con's face. "Who did you piss off this time?"

Mickey cringed away from him, but it wasn't a massive effort and Ian wasn't letting go. The bruise on Mickey's cheek was the worst and there was a cut on his lip and his eyebrow, but otherwise he didn't seem too worse off.

Ian grabbed his hand before Mickey could pull away and turned it over so that he could see his tattooed knuckles. The dark smudge like bruises that were starting to appear made Ian smile for some stupid reason. "Glad you didn't just lie down and take it," he said.

"When do I fucking ever?" Mickey retorted, "And get the hell off me, Gallagher, you're giving me a headache."

Which Ian seriously doubted, but he let him go anyway.

He didn't know why he was so bothered. Mickey was a renowned fighter, seeing him battered and bruised shouldn't have been of any concern to Ian. _Mickey_ shouldn't have been of any concern to him.

And yet Ian bolted off to try and find him at the mention of Mickey being hurt. He was pathetic, he knew he was.

"Aww, well isn't this sweet."

Mickey moved so fast that Ian almost fell over. One minute the older guy was on the barstool next to him and then the next he was standing in front of Ian. "Fuck off," Ian knew Mickey was baring his teeth in that way he did when he was angry, even without having to look.

The split lip that Mickey's brother – Iggy, Joey? Ian couldn't tell which one – sported made it pretty obvious who Mickey had been in a fight with. And it made Ian frown, because even he knew that Milkovich's didn't seriously hurt their own without a good reason. According to Mandy though, stuff like Mickey breaking Joey's finger over a stolen IPod didn't count.

"And who's going to make me, _you_?" his brother sneered and Ian's stomach dropped because he thought he knew now what the fight had been about. If he was right, he was glad Mickey wasn't dead. It probably had something to do with the fact this brother in particular didn't look like he was still able to stand upright.

"You even think about fucking touching him again, you'll wake up in the morning with your balls where your eyes should be," Mandy said, slamming her hands against Iggy's – _or Joey's?_ – chest. The guy staggered backwards a step, but didn't fall over like Ian hoped he would.

The Milkovich brother sneered, "Aww look, Mandy to the rescue."

He took another step forwards and in front of Ian Mickey tensed up. His hands balled into fists down by his sides and Ian reached out and touched the bottom of his back without even thinking. Mickey pressed back into his touch and Ian wondered if it was automatic.

"Still determined to protect your fag," the Milkovich brother pulled a face that look like he'd swallowed a lemon, "You could at least have some fucking taste even if you are bent."

Ian didn't understand the protecting comment, but he didn't have time to think about it because suddenly Mickey had launched himself forwards and was on top of his brother, his fist connecting with his face. "You wouldn't know taste if it was sucking on your dick," Mickey sneered, grabbing the front of his brother's shirt and in true Mickey fashion, ignoring the fact he had a headache or that his own face was injured, head-butted his brother hard.

There was a crunch and Ian moved to try and drag Mickey off, except the ex-con was already standing up. He spat on the floor by his brother and stalked off in that over-confident, 'I dare you to try and fuck with me' way he apparently still had after a fight.

Ian grabbed a bottle of vodka that stood on top of the bar and ran after Mickey. He'd bother with explanations to everyone else later. At that moment, he had things that he had to find out, questions he had to ask.

-000-

Mickey knew Ian was following him, but he was too busy trying not to throw up from the pain in his head to be able to do anything about it. Besides, he wasn't sure quite how he felt about him following. A part of him wanted to yell fuck off, but then the other part of him wanted the comfort that Ian could give with just a smile.

"Why'd you tell them?" Ian asked after a minute, not messing about with loaded pauses or checking to see if Mickey was okay. He just waited for Mickey to sit down – collapse – and then handed him a bottle of vodka.

Mickey took a heavy swig and tried to ignore the guilty edge to Ian's voice. "Don't fucking flatter yourself Gallagher, I didn't tell them because I thought I should," he said, but wondered if that was strictly true or not, "It was just kind of unavoidable."

That was definitely true.

"Did they catch you with Brett or whatever his name was, the guy from the bathroom?"

Mickey scowled, he didn't want to remember his crappy replacement Ian. "No, I'm hoping never to see him again, actually," he said, taking another swig of vodka and pulling a face. He normally wouldn't, but it was Ian that he was with, Ian wouldn't judge him for not liking the taste.

"Are you ever going to commit to any sort of relationship?" Ian asked and he tried to make it sound humorous, but Mickey thought that they both knew by now who the only person Mickey would ever commit to was.

"Well I'm never going to get engaged that's for sure," Mickey muttered before closing his lips back around the neck of the bottle and taking another swig of the burning liquid. He wondered for a brief moment if the liquid would burn away the thoughts in his head, but he doubted it with the constant reminder sitting next to him.

"Yeah," Ian replied not looking at him and Mickey wondered if he was imagining the bitter edge to his voice, "Knew you'd think that was a stupid idea."

Mickey scowled. "Why the fuck does it matter what I think?" he asked, giving Ian a weird look, "You want to get married, get fucking married, it ain't got jack shit to do with pessimists like me." Especially not jealous pessimists.

"So why did you come out to them?" Ian asked to change the subject after a long pregnant sort of pause.

Mickey didn't want to tell him, but he didn't want to not to either.

"It was either me or you," Mickey said, "And I have a harder head."

It really was as simple as that. Or at least it was for Mickey. He thought maybe Ian felt different when he didn't say anything. Mickey walked away with his grip white-knuckled on the neck of the bottle, until he risked shattering it. As he walked, he really wished Ian would call out to stop him, but he didn't.

Maybe there was just nothing left to be said anymore. Mickey didn't know.

-000—

_**Three months later. . . **_

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Mickey opened the door and looked at the face that was so familiar, but that he didn't think he would ever see again. He didn't particularly want to see it again actually, if he was being honest, because it was a face he sort of associated with heartbreak.

"I need to see you," Ian blurted out and Mickey remembered the last time that he had said that. He bit down on his own bottom lip to try and stop the memories, but it didn't work very well. He didn't think it would.

"No you don't," he said, feeling his heart die a little more in his chest.

Ian shook his head, which didn't quite make sense if Mickey thought about it, but then he didn't want to think. He wanted to go back to sleep. "I broke it off with Jason," he said, the words rushing out so quickly that Mickey wasn't entirely sure that he heard them correctly, "And I. . . um. . ." he trailed off because he obviously didn't know what he wanted to say.

Mickey just stared at him, wondering if he should pinch himself to see if this was all real or not.

When Ian said it, it was with his eyes screwed tight shut, like he was scared of seeing Mickey's reaction to the statement. "I love you," he whispered it, like if he said it loudly Mickey would punch him.

And he did consider it for about half a second, but then he was a little busy crashing his lips against Ian's and mapping out the inside of the redhead's mouth. For once, Mickey was too busy not caring about what he was supposed to do and what he wasn't to care about anything at all, but Ian Gallagher.

_His _Ian Gallagher.


End file.
